


Her

by splot



Series: We Remembered to Prioritize Our Feelings [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Body Positivity, Body Worship, Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Boyfriend, Bokuto likes getting his hair pulled and i think thats very bottom of him, Domestic Fluff, F/M, For my fellow big girls, Hair-pulling, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Self Esteem Issues, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Weight Issues, because the thicc girls need love too and you know that bokuto would love a thicc girl, body issues, god i haven't written smut in so long i'm so sorry guys this is probably terrible, plus size reader, your relatives are mean bitter old ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splot/pseuds/splot
Summary: “Okay. Can I ask you something else, then?”“Mhm.” The agreement is out your mouth before you can stop it. You suspected you’d agree with anything he said at the moment.“When I say you’re beautiful, you believe me, right?”… You’ll agree to anything he says but that.-----Bokuto notices a change in you, and decides that he doesn't like it. He just wants you to love you as much as he loves you, dammit.Alternative Summary -Mika Voice:Big girl, you are beautiful~
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader
Series: We Remembered to Prioritize Our Feelings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886548
Comments: 22
Kudos: 260





	Her

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm on the way  
>  To finding out exactly how to treat her right  
> Another day and I've been waiting  
> But I've been waiting my whole life to find  
> Someone like her_
> 
> 🎶 **[Her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTuaAvXp7pQ)** \- Majid Jordan

“What do you think of this?” You hold out another sleeved dress, almost two sizes too big, smiling brightly at Koutarou. He agrees, enthusiastically, thinking about how _adorable_ it would look on you, but when he suggests a smaller size, you wave a hand dismissively and throw the dress over your arm, adding it to the small bundle of clothes you were yet to try on.

Koutarou had happily agreed to come shopping with you for the upcoming summer – your old summer wardrobe needed an upgrade, you’d said, and he was always happy to spend his days off with you. But there was something bothering him.

No matter how much he said it, you never seemed to believe you were beautiful.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, and had felt guilty once he’d realised – how long had he let this slip past him?

Little comments that you made as you picked out your outfit for the day while he sat in bed, watching you. On one occasion, he’d suggested a soft, dusty rose shirt that he absolutely _loved_ seeing you in, but you’d made a face.

_“Nah, I can’t wear that one.”_

_“Why? I love it on you.”_

_“It doesn’t look good on me anymore. Remind me to donate it, okay?”_

He’d taken a candid photo of you on your trip sightseeing trip once, and it was his favourite photo. You’d been leaning over the rail of the lookout, in awe at the vastness of the valley beneath. When he’d shown you the photo, gushing at how beautiful you were, you’d scrunched your nose.

_“Oh, gross, look at that double chin. Actually, don’t. My face is so round. Delete that.”_

_“What? I think you look pretty!”_

_“You’re biased, babe.”_

He hadn’t noticed how shapeless sweaters and dresses two sizes too big had become your uniform, your hair in your face, or how you covered the lower half of your face with your hands when you smiled or laughed, even though those smiles warmed his heart more than anything.

More than anything, he hates how you think nothing of your casual disdain for your own body, the comments forgotten on the wind as you immediately move on.

“Kou? You okay?” Your smile is an exhibit to his thoughts, as you wave your hand before his face to get his attention. Now, in public, wasn’t the best time to bring this up. So instead, he fixes his smile, nods, and points at a t-shirt he thinks you’d like.

All the while, Koutarou hatches a plan to try and convince you just how beautiful you are.

* * *

“Babe? Can you come in here, please?”

You’ve just finished putting all your new clothes in the washing machine when you hear Koutarou call out from the bathroom.

He’d been distracted for the latter half of your shopping trip, but you’d just chalked it down to exhaustion from being dragged from shop to shop all day. When you’d arrived home, he’d dropped a kiss on your head and disappeared to the bathroom to shower.

“One sec!” You call back, setting the machine to start, before making your way to the bathroom. The door is open, and there’s a soft glow coming from inside that piques your curiosity.

Inside, Koutarou is sitting in the tub, full of steaming water, a single candle burning on the basin. He grins at you, lopsided, a hint smug at the dazed look on your face as your gaze trails over his body, silently cursing where the water rises against his ribs. “Gonna join me, _bumblebee?_ ”

The old nickname sparks something in you, and you’re powerless to resist.

“Let me shower, first. I’m all gross from today.” You murmur, and he nods, tipping his head back against the edge of the tub, eyes sliding closed with a sigh as you strip. Even with your back to him as you step into the shower cubicle, you can feel the moment his gaze finds you, and as you turn on the water, you throw a shy glance over your shoulder.

You were right. He’s shifted in the tub, crossing his arms over the edge, watching you with half-lidded eyes, lower lip dragging through his teeth as his gaze rakes over you like hot coals.

“Quit staring.” You resist the urge to cover yourself, just barely. He’s seen you before. This is nothing new.

But you’d begun feeling self conscious lately. All it took was one comment from your mother’s sister on your last visit home.

_“You’re looking happy in your relationship.”_

_“I am, Aunty, thank you.”_

_“I’m sure he’s very strong, with all that training. Even someone like you must be light as a feather to him.”_

_Even someone like you,_ she’d said. Your mother had laughed uncomfortably, changing the subject, but the politely snide tone of your Aunt had stuck.

You’d never been a small girl, by any means. On the higher end of average during high school, but you’d never had a problem with it. You were still healthy and fit, able to keep up with the team of raucous boys you managed. You’d much preferred being more than skin and bones.

When you’d finished school, you’d gained a little weight, but nothing to be upset over. You’d liked the way you’d filled out, and when you’d gotten with Koutarou, he’d loved it. There was nothing he’d hated more, he’d said after watching you devour your meal on your first proper date, than a girl who was afraid to eat. He’d seen the way you’d eat on the training camps and lunches, and he himself would eat more than triple what you did sometimes, so he’d never had a problem with it.

But then your Aunt had made that stupid comment, and everything came crashing down. You began to look at yourself more critically.

You found you hated the way your stomach looked in your work skirt.

You found you hated the way your favourite shirt bunched with the roll of your stomach, and buried it in the back of your closet.

T-shirts and strapless? With those arms? _Forget it._

Koutarou had taken a photo of your side profile, and you’d been horrified at the roundness of your chin, even muttering a _“gross_ ”.

You were beginning to hate everything about yourself that you’d once loved.

“Why should I stop staring? My beautiful girlfriend is in front of me, where else would I want to look?” Koutarou’s voice softly drags you back from the despairing pits of self-hate in your mind, brings you back to the present.

“… Please?” It’s not like you to ask, and so he sighs, acquiescing this once, leaning his head back against the tub again, eyes closing once more. “Thank you.”

“Hurry up and join me, ‘fore the water gets cold.” His words don’t betray any emotion other than the soft adoration he feels for you, the longing to have you in his arms. He doesn’t open his eyes or look up as you switch off the shower, stepping carefully so as not to slip on the wet tiles as you make your way to the tub.

“Move forward.” Your request is responded to with a shake of his head, golden eyes still closed, droplets spraying off the grey tips of his hair. Instead, his legs part, providing you room to step into the tub and sit in front of him.

Leaning back on him and crushing him with your weight? _No way,_ that’s the last thing you want to do.

But…

“I’m big spoon today, c’mon, babe. You’re gonna get a cold standing there like that.” It’s gentle, but firm. He’s not budging on this. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. It’s not like him to be so obstinate.

With a sigh that just borders on shaky, you step into the steaming water, settling yourself between his legs, your back to his chest. You don’t lean on him, instead sitting forward under the pretence of tying your damp hair up and out of the way, but when your arms drop into the water, sitting on the tops of your bent knees, you don’t make any move to lie back against him.

You almost think he’s going to leave it be, when he stays silent. You wonder if he’s fallen asleep, for the briefest moment, before you feel two strong arms snaking around your waist, pulling you back against his hard chest, thick, muscled thighs caging you in as his lips skate over your shoulder.

“Is there any particular reason you’re trying to stay so far away from me, beautiful?” His voice is low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine as he creates a trail of kisses along your damp skin, up your neck.

“No.” It’s the only answer (lie) you can get out with him distracting you as he is, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you when he huffs a humourless laugh against your neck, arms tightening ever so slightly.

“Okay. Can I ask you something else, then?”

“Mhm.” The agreement is out your mouth before you can stop it. You suspected you’d agree with anything he said at the moment.

“When I say you’re beautiful, you believe me, right?”

… You’ll agree to anything he says _but that._

You’re startled by the question, body tensing, eyes flying open as you stare resolutely at the wall in front of you. Your lips part, but you can’t bring yourself to lie to him or yourself, and so no words come forth. His kisses stop, forehead resting on your shoulder, the long breath he lets out raising goosebumps on your damp skin.

“Did I… say, or do something? To make you think that you’re not?” He asks, but all you can do is shake your head, your arms resting on top of his where they’re wrapped around your waist. _Pudgy. He can probably feel each roll._ “What happened, bumblebee? It’s okay if you don’t know, or don’t want to talk about it, but…”

One of his hands comes up out of the water, droplets running down his wrist as he lifts his head from your shoulder and turns your face gently towards him. You almost want to look away from the intensity in his golden eyes, overwhelming as it is, but he doesn’t give you a chance. His lips capture yours, in a kiss that is soft and yet the passion, the love, the adoration that he pours into it has you trembling in his arms. When he pulls back, you can’t help but chase his lips for another, but he laughs softly, instead kissing your forehead as he wraps his arms around your waist again, nuzzling his nose into your neck. After a beat of silence, you realise he’s waiting for you to answer his question.

“It’s not you, Kou. You haven’t done anything wrong.” You say quietly. You turn away from him again, drawing your knees as close to your chest as you can. Not that you can manage much with the size of you, but you feel more comfortable with more of yourself hidden. “I’m just… not comfortable. With myself anymore. Not at the moment.”

The stilted words are all you can voice at the moment – you don’t want to upset him with the endless stream of negativity that swirls in your mind. You know it does, whenever you put yourself down around him, even as a joke. He wasn’t very good at hiding his thoughts – his face was always an open book, it was one of the things you loved about him, most of the time. Sometimes, very rarely, you hated it, because you would feel everything he did.

“Can I try something?” He asks after a moment, resting his chin on your shoulder. When you nod, hesitantly, he continues. “Tell me what you’re not comfortable with, or what you don’t like.”

You’re sure he can hear your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of laying your issues bare like that. You almost feel nauseous, but he’s laying soft kisses on your shoulder, heartbeat strong and steady against your back. “No judgement zone, babe. I won’t laugh at you or tease you or make you upset. I promise.”

“I know you won’t, Kou.” Your reassurance is weak. It’s not that you don’t believe him – you don’t think Koutarou could hurt you even if he tried. It’s the fear of vulnerability.

But his arms are strong around you. Safe. Your home.

And so, you take a deep breath.

And very quietly, so quiet it’s almost lost, you speak. “M-my arms, I guess. I don’t like how they look. They’re kinda jiggly and I hate wearing t-shirts and strappy shirts. My fingers too. They’re little and chubby.”

His arms withdraw from around your waist, and a bolt of fear strikes your heart – only for a moment, though, as he instead runs his hands down your arms, gently, from where your shoulders meet your neck, all the way down to your fingertips, and back up.

“You mean these arms? These arms that used to spike volleyballs at my head when I was messing around? These fingers, that ruffle my hair, and that link with mine, just like this? These arms that hold me so tight I can feel how much you love me? These powerful, beautiful arms, these incredibly magic fingers?” He brings each hand up to his lips over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to each fingertip, and you stutter wordlessly, face pinking with each soft declaration. “What else?”

“My stomach. I’ve put on so much weight. It’s all rolls now. And my hips have gotten really wide. They’ve always been, but I don’t feel comfortable with it anymore.” You go red with mortification as he releases your hands, instead running his palms over your soft stomach.

“This? This sign that you love and appreciate food as much as I do? That you’ve enjoyed every meal we share together? My favourite place to rest my head when you’re lying down in front of the fireplace with your books during winter.” Something changes in his voice, making you shiver as he murmurs in your ear, his hands sliding to your hips, resting comfortably on each one. “And these hips, hmm? I love them. I love resting my hands right here when you wanna dance with me. I love how they look in those ripped jeans. I love holding onto them when you’re riding me, when you set the pace. I love pulling them towards me when you’re screaming my name into my pillow.”

He slides closer still, the still-steaming water rippling as he presses flush against you, his half-hard length against your lower back. Your eyes are sliding shut at his shaky breath on your neck, but a soft nip at the juncture of your shoulder grounds you, as does the almost-command he breathes into the skin there. “What else?”

His thick, muscled thighs are caging you in, and you’re powerless, immobilised in his grip. Not that you’d want to move. His touch is almost innocent, hands still resting on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles. He seems content to wait for you to speak again, and reluctantly, you do.

“My boobs.” Your voice is small, and you feel childish saying it. “I’ve gone up two sizes. I’ve always got marks from my bras, and they make my back hurt.”

The soft chuckle into your shoulder makes you shiver again, low heat pooling in your belly as his hands slide up your hips, your ribs. You try to squirm away, not wanting him to feel the bulges and rolls, but he doesn’t let you, legs tightening on either side as he cups your breasts contemplatively, almost weighing them in his palms, thumbs swiping over your nipples in a casual gesture that sends a shockwave through your body. “You know I’m a boob guy, babe. And yours are the best I’ve ever seen. Probably because they’re the only ones I’ve ever seen. Outside of porn, anyway.”

He’s teasing, and you know without even looking that he’s got that cheeky little smirk on, and it relaxes you enough to splash him over your shoulder, a small, uncertain grin growing on your face as he splutters indignantly.

“Seriously, though, my point stands. I love ‘em, no-one else could compare. And if your bra leaves marks, then I’ll kiss each mark until they go down. And when they make your back hurt, I’ll give you the best massage in the world. I’m always happy to hold ‘em for you, just like this. Who needs a bra?” That makes you laugh outright, although, it peters off into a quiet sound of desire as his lips graze up your neck, voice soft once again, right in your ear as his thumbs rove over your nipples again, a little rougher, their glide aided by the bathwater in slow circles. “What else, baby?”

It takes you a moment to remember what he means. You press your legs together, nervously.

“My thighs. I can’t wear shorts anymore. I’ve… I’ve got so many stretch marks. I can’t even take a step without them wobbling like a plate of jelly.” You almost whine when his hands leave your breasts, just barely stifling the sound as they rest on your thighs, pushing gently until you relax your legs, stretching them out in front of you.

Your hands, subconsciously, begin to wrap around your middle, but the sharp sting of Koutarou’s teeth on your shoulder stops your movement as you make a quiet noise of surprise. “Hands on the edge of the tub, baby. I wanna see your beautiful body.”

You’re about to protest, but he seems to sense it, laving his tongue over the bite soothingly, fingertips trailing softly over your thighs underneath the water. Your hands grip either side of the tub, knuckles white, and you watch the distorted shadow of them below the rippling water nervously as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching with you.

“I fucking _love_ these thighs. I love how they look when you’re wearing my jersey, my number, my name, just barely showing and driving me wild.” His grip tightens, and he lets out a soft sigh at the give beneath his fingertips. “They’re so soft. I love when they’re wrapped around my head. I’d happily die between these thighs, baby.”

You both watch, riveted by the shadows beneath the water as his hands slide inward, the left pushing your thighs apart, the right tracing the seam of your thigh, and even though you let loose a small sigh of desire at the touch, your face still goes red in embarrassment and shame. Your thighs remain touching, even though you can see how his hand sinks into the skin as he pushes them apart. The darkened bathroom and the rippling water can’t hide how big your thighs are. They’re not even pure muscle, like his are. Just… fat.

Your hands lift from the edge of the tub, ready to push his hands away and grab the nearest towel, but he seems to sense your unease, murmuring a soft, _“hey,_ ” to get your attention as he lifts his hand from your thigh. You turn your face to the side, meeting his reassuring gaze, and he brushes his lips across yours, gentle, soft, loving.

Slowly, you calm again under his gentle ministrations, the soft kisses that make you melt back against him, your hand raising to rake through his wet hair, keep him close, keep his lips on yours. You feel him smirk against your lips, and you break away with a soft cry.

He’d taken advantage of your distraction, right hand slipping between your thighs to run his fingertips along your slit in casual, almost bored motions, and he hums as he nestles his chin on your shoulder again, watching the movement of his hand through lowered lashes. “I really, really love watching how my hand disappears between your thighs. _Fuck._ ”

That one word has heat curling in your belly, and he shifts, a choked groan raising the hairs on the back of your neck as his hard length presses against your lower back. “Bend your knees a little, baby, just like that. You’re so beautiful, you know?”

Your knees are bent, resting limply against his calves as his calloused fingertip drags small circles over your clit, and he hums against your neck at the little whine that gets caught in your throat.

“You are. You’re so damn beautiful, baby. I really don’t know how I got so lucky. Your heart, your soul, your smile, and this incredible fucking body of yours, _fuck_ , can you feel what you’re doing to me?” His hips stutter against your back, words almost a growl against your skin, and your breath hitches in your chest. “That’s all from you, my sweet bumblebee. My incredible baby. My love, my heart, _baby…_ ”

His words choke off on a moan, low and sweet in your ear, hips moving a steady pace against you. You’re already embarrassingly close to coming, just from his words and his fingertip spelling out what you’re sure is his name on your clit, your head resting back on his shoulder as his free hand caresses your breast, thumb slick on your nipple. You both moan, and you feel him twitch, when he lowers his hand just enough to slide his middle finger into your soaked entrance.

One of your hands is still tangled in his hair, and he lets out a pleased grunt when you tug gently at his hair, clenching around his finger. He would never admit out loud (not yet, at least), but every time you pull his hair, he loses just a little bit more of his mind. His hips are moving as though they have a mind of their own, the friction of being pressed so close to you too good to ignore. Water splashes over the edge of the tub, drenching the tiles, but he can’t bring himself to care as you tug at his hair again, dragging a rough sound from his lips.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so damn beautiful. I love you like this, I love making you like this, I love you.” On the next thrust of his finger, he adds another, thumb brushing your sensitive clit and making you cry out.

“Kou, _please._ ” He can feel the way you start to flutter and bear down on his middle and ring finger, and he buries his face in your neck, chest heaving against your back as he leaves a reddening bruise to match the one he’s left on your shoulder.

“Yeah, baby? You’re close, hmm? You’re so beautiful, you’re gorgeous, you’re my own personal Goddess, I’d do anything for you, I’d _die_ for you if you ask me to, I love you, _fuck,_ I love you so _much_ -” His voice cracks on the last word and he lets out a sound _so close_ to a whimper into your skin.

“ _Kou, I-“_ His fingers hit just the right angle and you can only breath out his name as you clench around his fingers, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as he continues murmuring soft, adoring compliments, his breath shuddering against your skin as you come down from your high, limbs pleasantly numb.

You push his hand softly, far too sensitive to bear the touch any longer, and he wraps both arms around your waist, sighing contently. You shift in his arms, legs relaxing and stretching in front of you once more, but you freeze when he shudders and lets out a stuttering sound. It’s one you’ve heard before, one he usually makes after he comes, when he’s… too … sensitive… _he didn’t. Did he?_

“S-sorry, baby, kinda made a mess back here.” He sounds almost sheepish as he practically reads your thoughts and you look at him in surprise, noting the flush on his cheeks, the blown pupils. “I’ll clean you up in a sec, just let me catch my breath.”

“But I… didn’t even touch you.” You say in disbelief, and his face flushes even more red, if possible. It’s hard to believe he’s shy after all you’ve just done, but he’s hiding his face in your neck.

“You didn’t need to.” He mumbles, arms tightening around you. “I told you, I think you’re incredible. You’re beautiful when you come, and you make really, _really_ pretty sounds for me.”

The filth of his words does not match the demure way he’s hiding his face from you. _What on Earth had you done to deserve this man?_

You pull out of his grip, but before he can pout and whine, you rise up onto your knees, turning to face him, uncaring of the torrent of lukewarm water splashing over the edge and onto the floor with your movement as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. He recovers from his surprise after a moment, hands gripping your waist as he returns the kiss, sighing contently against your lips.

“I love you.” You murmur when you pull away to breathe, and his smile makes you feel so warm inside as he hugs you tight.

“I love you so much, my beautiful girl.” He hums happily. “Wanna make out some more?”

You laugh, kissing him once more, unable to resist at the cheeky grin spreading across his face. “How about we move to the bedroom, first? Then you can make out with me all you want.”

“Can I touch your boobies too?” He wiggles his eyebrows, as though he hadn’t just been two fingers deep inside you. Your laugh echoes off the bathroom walls.

“ _Ha!_ Yes, Kou, you can touch my boobies, too.”

“ _Fuck yes!”_

**Author's Note:**

> dsfgjldkffj I haven't written Spicy Stuff in so long, I'm sorry if this is terrible .
> 
> I had to end it on a goofy note - you know Bokuto is a goofy boyfriend. It's why we love him. 
> 
> I've said it to my friends and I'll say it to you: Bokuto is a bottom with a praise kink. However, for this fic, he's praising u, because ur beautiful. ALL OF YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. 
> 
> Title is **[Her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTuaAvXp7pQ)** by Majid Jordan, one of my favourite songs.
> 
> I love you all ! Thank you for reading!


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